


That a ghost should be so practical

by Nakimochiku



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7224253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Still not in love with him yet? You’re absolutely sure? You don’t want to rescind that?” Burr doesn’t look at him, and John throws up his hands in frustration. “You’re so in love with him you are causing me physical pain and I’m not even corporeal!”</p>
<p>Or, John Laurens the Ghost tries to get Burr and Alexander together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That a ghost should be so practical

Things seem to make a lot more sense in death. John opens his eyes and wonders at his surroundings, the warm dark wood of an office, the yellow glow of lamplight. Aaron Burr is bent over Alexander, one hand floating just short of touching his hair. Alexander, absorbed in his writing, does not seem to notice the not quite touch. 

Burr’s gaze is fondly exasperated. It’s an expression John never thought he would see on him, a kind of softness to his hard careful edges and mild personality. It's more than he's ever shown when he thought someone would see, all directed at Alexander, who frantically dips his pen in more ink and keeps writing.

Things make more sense in death.

“Holy shit you're in love with him!” John exclaims, startling Burr so badly he leaps away, falling against his desk. He finds John, dark eyes wide.

“Burr, what the hell?” Alexander snaps.

“Nothing.” Aaron Burr is looking directly into his eyes, expression caught between terror, fascination and disbelief. John smiles and waves. “I just… Tripped.”

Alexander rolls his eyes. “You're so clumsy. Have a seat before you hurt yourself.”

Burr doesn't move. John gets the feeling being a ghost will be a lot more fun than he thought.

 

*

 

“I feel a bit stupid to be honest, I can't believe I couldn't tell.”

“There's nothing for you to tell.” Burr grumbles, scratching away at his paper with vicious strokes. “I will however concede your stupidity.” He pauses, glances at John who hovers an inch or two above the cushion of the chair opposite his desk and sighs as he looks back to his page. “And my own insanity.”

“I'll grant,” John carries on as though Burr had not spoken. “Every time I saw you together I was a bit--”

“Drunk.”

“And it may have impaired my judgement slightly but,” John grins, biting his lip on a laugh. Burr scowls. “I can't believe I couldn't tell.”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Dead men tell no tales, Burr.” John opens his arms in an expansive gesture. Burr’s mouth grows tight and his eyes steely. He's attractive when he smiles, John concedes, charming even. But the expression seems lost to him now in anxious fear. “Can't you even admit your secrets to a ghost?”

“Laurens.”

“What's there to be afraid of? You think if you ignore it, your feelings will just disappear?”

“If I had any of the feelings you spoke of, yes, ignoring them would be a wise course of action.”

“You aren’t so sly, Burr. Actually it's kinda cute.” John chuckles and Burr frowns at his choice of words. “When you look at him it's clear as day. You can't hide it or pretend.” John waves his hand flippantly at him. “So why not pursue it?”

“Are you daft?” Burr breathes. “You know the consequences of pursuing another man in that way. Why--” he pauses and takes a steadying breath. “Such endeavours seem fruitless from every vantage point.”

“Bullshit,” John barks. “You're just afraid he won't like you.” Burr’s lips thin. “You aren't such a coward.” Things are so much clearer in death. “You love him. Isn't that reason enough?”

 

*

 

Alexander passes out at four in the afternoon, pen still between his fingers, drooling across his pages. Burr sighs that fond exasperated sigh, clears the desk around Alexander, caps his inkwell and settles his coat over his shoulders. Alexander purrs, snuffles and remains dead to the world. 

He pauses just long enough to brush Alexander’s hair out of his face. He looks like he could linger there all afternoon just watching him sleep. He looks like propriety alone keeps him from leaning down and pressing a kiss to Alexander’s forehead.

John sort of wants him to do it, wants to tell him that no one will know, except himself and a ghost, and dead men tell no tales. Instead he groans dramatically, startling Burr from Alexander’s side. He shifts as guiltily as a child caught tracking mud through the house. “No of course you aren't in love with him. Not at all. Nothing says not in love with you like making sure you're comfortable for an impromptu nap.”

“It's common courtesy,” Burr sniffs moodily.

“Uh huh. And so’s staring at him longingly.” John nods along. “Just common courtesy. Not in love with him at all.” Burr rolls his eyes and turns pointedly away from him. “Common courtesy wouldn’t have you blushing like that, Burr.”

“Laurens, behave yourself before I have you exorcised.”

“Hey man, I was agreeing with you.” John throws his hands up in surrender. “Not in love with him. It's all crystal clear.”

 

*

 

Actually, John has no idea how Alexander can't tell already. Burr isn't precisely subtle. He looks at him like he's been bowled over with awe and admiration. He saves a very particular smile for him alone, one part irony, one part hope and the other part slick charm, like he's always waiting for Alexander to say something he wants to hear, but finds the consistent disappointment humourous. He shares meals with him. He daringly pats him on the shoulder or the back when it's time to lock up for the night and lets his fingers linger. He says, “Alexander,” like even the name is sweet on his tongue. 

Its adorable and frustrating.

John sort of wishes he could appear to Alexander, scream in his face until he realized the potential he's missing out on. If Alexander knew, John wouldn't have to suffer through Burr’s pining glances. If Alexander knew, both of them would always look rumpled and a little dazed before court.

Instead he hovers by Burr’s elbow and hisses, “Get a little familiar with him. For the love of christ Burr, you've known him for ten years. You've seen him naked. He slept on top of you once. You’re allowed to touch him.”

Burr always looks like he would punch him if he could. He never replies with anything more than a scathing glare when Alexander's in the room.  

“You have quite the frightful expression on, Mr. Burr. Is something bothering you?” Alexander studies him over their shared lunch, frown wrinkling his brow.

“Not at all.” Burr lies smoothly, smiling his special Alexander only smile. “Nothing is bothering me at all.”

“Bullshit.” John comments blandly. Burr holds his smile and doesn't glance over.

 

*

 

“You brought him flowers.” John says dully, rolling his eyes hard. He honestly wonders if Burr does things that warrant comment on purpose, just to screw with him, or if he really doesn’t know that he acts besotted with Alexander, besotted enough to bring him flowers. Burr shoots him a poisonous look, knocks twice on Alexander’s office door and bursts in when he calls out permission.

“Do you have a vase?” Burr asks first, settling an armful of colourful larkspur in blues and pinks on Alexander’s desk despite his squawk of displeasure.

“Why would I have a vase? And what are these?” his hands flutter as though he’s afraid to touch, instead slipping his papers out from beneath them.

“So absorbed in your writings you’ve forgotten what the natural world looks like, Alexander?” Burr teases, finding a jug to fill with water despite Alexander’s second, immediate sound of displeasure. “They’re flowers.”

“I know, I meant, why are they here. On my desk. About to be in my decanter. Which was not meant to hold flowers.” he gestures helplessly at the pile of petals with restless hands, but doesn’t seem half as irritated as he pretends.

“Theodosia’s larkspur were blooming. I thought it might be nice to brighten up the office.” Burr sniffs, tipping his chin up with a decisive shrug. He arranges the stems meticulously, fluffing the petals, pulling away withered ones.

Alexander narrows his eyes at him. “Alright. But why are you brightening my office? And not, you know, yours?”

“Yeah, Burr.” John snickers. “Why are you brightening his office?”

That draws Burr up short. He keeps his eyes on his fingers as he fiddles with the flowers, settling their verdant leaves artfully over the rim of the decanter, his expression carefully neutral as he casts around for an excuse. “Because if I don’t how else will you see flowers?” It sounds too soft, so he clears his throat and adds, “You obviously don’t go outside anymore. You’re becoming a hermit, Alexander.”

“Still not in love with him yet? You’re absolutely sure? You don’t want to rescind that?” Burr doesn’t look at him, and John throws up his hands in frustration. “You’re so in love with him you are causing me physical pain and I’m not even corporeal!”

 

*

 

“You could write him poetry. Pour your feelings onto paper. He would love that.”

“I'm not much of a wordsmith, and there's nothing worth saying.”

“Aaron Burr if I could grab you by the head and knock some sense into your abnormally thick skull, I would.”

“Let's approach this situation logically shall we?”

“Lord almighty, here we go.”

“Let us say for a moment I am, as you claim, in love with Alexander. He does not return those supposed feelings. And even if he did, what good would come of it? He’s married. I’m married. And even if we were to trample upon those sacred rites, what future is there for us?”

“Why are you worried about the future? What does the future matter? All you have is now.”

“Then I'm satisfied with now. I have as much of him as I'm allowed.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“We’re together everyday for hours. What more can I ask for?”

“His kisses. His affection. His poetry. His co-”

“Enough.”

“Just saying man. You're missing out on a whole lot.”

 

*

 

The office is full of the sound of scratching pens, the soothing monotonous tick of the clock, the turning of pages.The room is bright with sunshine, casting a red glow to their papers. They’ve made a little world here, just the two of them. It's so peaceful John doesn't say anything at all. He watches. 

“Coffee or tea, Alexander?” Burr offers graciously, moving to a stove where a kettle already boils.

“Tea please.” Alexander tosses him a smile. It is soft and open. Burr steeps the leaves, reaches in a cabinet for a jar of honey, and brings all of it over to the desk he and Alexander share.

John keeps the thought that Burr sort of looks like a fussy wife to himself, and hides his smile behind his hand. When he's quiet, Burr is less reserved around Alexander, like he forgets he's there. Like his world is narrowed to the bright point of Alexander's existence, like the moon circling the earth helplessly.

Alexander clears away a pile of papers to make room, Burr smiles at him in thanks and pours tea into two chipped teacups, and stirs honey into each. “There you are,” he hands him a cup and settles back in his chair with his own.

Alexander takes a sip and hums contentedly. “You make the world’s best tea.”

Burr ducks his head in a mock bow and smiles, all fake humility and playful pride. “Thank you.”

It's a warm little scene. John’s chest tingles, watching them smile sweetly at each other. Its painful to watch really, because Burr could have this for real, not just pieces of it, if he just scraped his courage together and said something.

 

*

 

“You could start off like this: Oh Alexander, I long for you in ways my dimwitted brain cannot express.” John clasps his hands together like a heroine in an opera, and bats his eyelashes. 

“Shut up.” Burr sighs.

“Your raven black hair is the bane of my existence, so long as I remain forbidden from touching it.” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead in a swoon.

“I would never say that.” Burr grumbles.

“But you are obsessed with his hair. I’ve noticed. Anyway. I yearn for you. I thirst you you. I ache for you, oh Alex--”

“For the love of christ shut up!” Burr snaps.

“Mr Burr? Normally I have to open my mouth before you get fed up with me.” Alexander looks one part amused and one part concerned, many pages of notes near spilling from his arms where he stands in the office door.

“I… I've learned to get ahead of the game with you, Alexander.” John imagines Burr is flushing beneath his dark complexion. He clears his throat nervously. John laughs hard.  “What do you need?”

“I thought you told me to shut up.” Alexander smirks.

“And I’m sure I will again.” Burr’s lips tilt up in response.

“Look at you two. Bantering and flirting. Adorable.” John makes gagging noises. “Get together already.”

 

*

The most frustrating part of it all is that John knows for a fact; knows it like the sky is blue, like he's currently semi transparent, like fire is hot; that Alexander is very interested in Burr. He angles his shoulders just so when they talk, moves closer than he has to when he's excited, lets his eyes rake with meaningful heat over Burr unabashedly. It's the expression of a tom cat who has caught sight of an unwitting canary, just waiting for a moment, for a lapse before he pounces. 

John could scream. How does Burr not notice that eager, hungry edge to Alexander’s smile, the way he's always coming to work in Burr’s office even though he really doesn't need to? He works next door for christ's sake, he doesn't need to crowd his desk so their elbows or knees are constantly touching. How does Burr not notice the way he stays for tea or lets Burr drag him away from his work? The way they'll go out to pubs and sip at whiskey and watch each other over the rims of their glasses, saying a thousand things but nothing of import, liquor warm in their bellies to mask the old heat of want.

In retrospect, John has no idea how he couldn't see all this coming before he died. Alexander always looked at Burr like that. Things are just clearer in death.

They don't stumble home drunk like they used to before the war when they were young and carefree, but they are loose and pliant with each other, implying a thousand more things they don't put into words, all while Alexander watches and waits to pounce, his canary between his paws.

“Fucking fools.” John mutters, watching Alexander shift into Burr’s lingering hand on his shoulder, turned to him as flowers turn to the sun, waiting for Burr to say “now” because Alexander Hamilton does not play by the rules, and will exhibit restraint when it's least required. “Just jump his bones already jesus christ I'm not getting any younger here!”

 

*

 

“Would you pass me the closing statements?” Alexander flaps his hand without looking up, waiting for Burr to put the notes in his hand. 

Burr snorts and leans away from him, taking the closing statements with him. “So you can make them longer again? I think not.”

“I just really want to drive the point home.” Alexander looks up now, mouth twisted in a pleading pout.

“You've already driven the point home. Hard. A dozen times.”

“Or at least he would if you bent over for him.” John murmurs.

Burr splutters, Alexander frowns in question, and he tries to cover it by coughing unconvincingly into the crook of his elbow. “Sorry. I uh. Took a breath wrong and choked.” He offers by way of explanation. He makes an awkward shape with his mouth and looks pointedly at his papers.

“You really are so clumsy.” Alexander sighs. “Do you you need some water?”

“No thank you. I'll be fine.”

“You would be if you let Alexander drive his point home.” John waggles his brow meaningfully. This time, unfortunately, Burr doesn't react.

 

*

 

“It's not that easy.” Burr murmurs. He stares at his page but doesn't write anything. John hovers over the chair Alexander had occupied just minutes ago, but waits for Burr to speak. “To just admit to this. To you. To him.”

“You're over complicating things, Burr. The way you always do. It’s that easy.”

“But what if--” he pauses, swallows, sets down his pen and meticulously gathers his papers. “It just doesn't seem worth it. I'd rather wait.”

“Wait for what though?” John presses.

Burr shrugs. “I'll know when I see it.”

John snorts. “If that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation at all.” If that were true, they would have gone home together that first night at the pub. They would have been stealing kisses in the forests after their shifts on watch during the war. They would have held each other with desperation after every battle instead of just grasping hands as brothers in arms. If that were true, Aaron Burr and Alexander would have been together ten years ago.

 

*

 

“Alexander?” Burr frowns, knocking twice on the door to Alexander’s office before he pokes his head in. “You're here early. What’s all this?”

“Wanted to get a head start on the day. I brought breakfast.” Alexander beams at him and gestures at the spread of toast and eggs and preserves. John floats silently and watches, bemused, while Alexander catches Burr by the wrist and pulls him to the table. “You’re always sharing lunch. Thought I'd return the favour. Tea or coffee?”

He talks a mile a minute, just like always. “Coffee.” Burr manages, dumbfounded and plucking at a piece of bread slathered with jam Alexander hands to him. He regains himself enough to smile. “Can I look forward to this treatment often?”

“Only when I feel like spoiling you.” Alexander smirks meaningfully, all hooded eyes and a spark that could easily become flames and coyly lowered eyelashes. Does Burr not see it? The naked want, right there in his gaze. He would push breakfast off the table onto the floor and take Burr or be taken by him right against the wood if he so much as implied he wanted it. John shakes his fist to the sky. He’s starting to learn being a ghost means things are clearer for him alone; no matter how much he says so, the living remain blind.

Case in point: Burr just chuckles. “You mean when you feel like buttering me up for something. What do you need?”

“Frankly, I’m offended you associate my acts of affection with the intention to bribe you!” Alexander gasps playfully. Burr laughs harder, setting down his coffee to cover his mouth. “I mean, you’re correct, but I remain offended.”

“Yes yes, tell me what you need.” John remembers again, that Burr is handsome when he smiles; open mirth, a flash of teeth and crinkled eyes. Alexander doesn’t answer immediately, he just watches Burr smile at him until he lifts a questioning brow. “Alexander?”

“I want to make the closing statements this time.”

Burr snorts. “No.”

“Not even after I was kind enough to get breakfast?” Alexander pouts.

Unaffected, Burr pointedly picks up another slice of toast. “If you keep it up for a week I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll do what it takes to convince you.” Alexander winks.

“Bet he could think of other ways to convince you.” John singsongs just by his ear. Burr’s toast slips from his fingers and slaps jam first on the table and Alexander pointedly hands him a napkin with the air of one who has long become accustomed to Burr’s quirks.

“How are you like this and still alive?”

 

*

 

“Your writing is all over my notes.” Burr waves his papers at him like he's presenting evidence in court. He doesn't make a question of it, but the words hang in the air unasked. 

“You fell asleep.” Alexander shrugs, idly fanning his paper while he waits for the ink to dry. “I finished them for you.”

“Oh.” Burr says. He shifts foot to foot, and folds the pages carefully between his hands. “Thank you.” He offers after a moment.

“Anytime.” Alexander tosses him an easy smile, that kind that always makes Burr’s breath hitch visibly. “I know you love having your notes.”

“Isn’t that sweet.” John comments. Burr makes an awkward shape with his mouth and looks away. Alexander’s eyes stray to his lips with longing.

Burr looks like he’s about to drop it, to avoid further conversation, but he pauses and says, “I also found that edition of that book I mentioned before, you left it beside them. Do you mind if I borrowed it--?”

“Of course not, I left it for you.” Alexander rolls his eyes, sets aside his page and grabs another. John thinks his ears are a little red.

“Oh.” Burr says again, blinking and surprised. “Thank you.”

Alexander lets his pen sit in the inkwell. He smiles. It is soft and warm. His eyes are sparkling with fondness. “Anytime, Mr Burr.” He says, and John gets the feeling he does not mean books or notes. He says it like a promise.

John is sick of this.

 

*

 

“Trust me. Just trust me.” John isn't smiling, because he's done joking around. “Alexander wants you.” Burr scoffs and opens his mouth to argue. “Shut up a second.” He wishes he could slam his hands against the desk, upset the spare inkwell Alexander keeps on the corner. 

“Why should I--”

“Because honestly you're an idiot.” John interrupts. “I actually don't know how someone so smart is so stupid.” He lets out a frustrated sigh when Burr only frowns at him. “I'm your friend. And Alexander is my friend. And I want you both to be happy. So get your head out of your ass and do something. What are you waiting for?”

Burr is saved from replying by a knock on the door.

“Mr Burr, sir.” Alexander calls from the door, leaning on the doorjamb. “If I may have a moment of your time.” He gestures with a handful of papers and offers a wry little smile.

“He could have all your time if you would just say so.”

“Certainly, Alexander, what do you need?”

John drowns out whatever Alexander says with a chant of “tell him tell him tell him tell him!”

“Sorry, I didn't catch that-?”

“Tell him tell him tell him tell him!”

“For the love of-- fine.” Burr crosses the room in two strides, and grabs Alexander by the shoulders. He doesn't give himself a moment to back down, or a moment for Alexander to question. He crushes their mouths together. His hand moves from his shoulder to his hair just like he's always wanted. John thinks he can see a hint of tongue.

Burr’s eyes are closed, so he doesn't see the way Alexander blinks in vague surprise, or the way his eyes crinkle with amusement, before he sinks into the kiss, lets the papers in his hands scatter to the floor to grab him by the ass and pull him in close. Burr makes a pleased noise, Alexander laughs against his mouth and John lets out a loud triumphant yell of “fucking finally!”

When Burr has Alexander backed up against the wall, both his hands buried in his black hair, while Alexander’s fingers claw at his waist coat, his ascot, unsure what to get him out of first, John clears his throat and wonders idly how far they're planning on going and then decides it's really not his business.

“Right. You two carry on. I'll just--”

 

*

 

When John comes back, Alexander is gone but his waist coat is tossed over the back of his chair. Burr looks loose and a little dazed. His waistcoat is still unbuttoned, and his ascot open around his neck. He looks ravished. John snickers. “You were right.” Burr says after a moment, twisting the fabric of his ascot around his fingers thoughtfully. 

“I know.” John grins. “You two clearly had fun.” He looks Burr up and down with raised eyebrows, far too pleased with himself.

Burr rolls his eyes and ignores the dig. “I don't know what to say.”

“Thanks, John. You’re a great friend John, I’m so glad you told me to do this, John.” He shrugs. “All viable options.”

Burr laughs softly. “How long are you planning on sticking around?”

“Sick of me already? I thought we were having so much fun.”

“Laurens.” Burr sighs through his nose, but smiles.

He shrugs again, considers the office where he first opened his eyes. “Think I’m done here, actually.” He smiles at Burr’s displeased little frown. “Guess that was my purpose. Don’t fuck this up Burr. You two are good for each other.”

He closes his eyes, and hopes this means Burr can finally see. But, things are never so clear for the living. He has no idea what they’ll do without him.

 


End file.
